


Christmas Star

by Marbled Wings (LynxRyder)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Lights, Comfort, Crowley's an optimist, Established Relationship, Hope, Kisses, M/M, mentions of Crowley's lockdown nap, mentions of it being a hard year, no outright mentions of covid, there is only softness here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynxRyder/pseuds/Marbled%20Wings
Summary: The best part of his evening’s plan, and the part Crowley was adamantly the most not-worried about, was something that had required no power at all.After all, any supernatural entity could click and make everything perfect but there was something about being in the right place, at the right time, with the right person that no amount of magic, infernal or holy or otherwise, could ever hope to replicate.It's Christmas date night and Crowley has a plan to bring some light to the end of a long, dark year.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Christmas Star

**Author's Note:**

> 2020, right? The hits keep coming. 
> 
> It's been a hard few days but I hope this will bring a little light.

Aziraphale had closed the shop at midday for no better reason than he intended to spend the afternoon in pleasurable anticipation of the evening to come, and he wished to do so uninterrupted.

The shortest day was upon them, bringing with it a cold and darkness that suited the mood of the wider world beyond the bookshop. The street was emptier than Aziraphale was accustomed to for the week before Christmas but the lights strung from the lampposts still twinkled. Defiantly, in Aziraphale's opinion. 

He had wondered, considering all that the year had brought with it, and how much of it Crowley had slept through, whether their own fledgling seasonal traditions would fall by the wayside. Aziraphale had spent many long and lonely nights attempting to make peace with this thought. Christmas had always meant more to him than Crowley, and he could certainly understand why skipping the year’s festivities would appeal. He was not about to insist that they honour the holidays. If Crowley wanted to ignore it completely, Aziraphale was perfectly prepared to work his way through a stack of Dickens and say nothing at all.

And then, ten days ago, just as Aziraphale was packing the last of his hopes away, the invitation had arrived.

He had been carrying it ever since, drawing it from the inside pocket of his waistcoat to run a reverent fingertip over his name in slanting black ink more frequently than he would ever care to admit. Crowley really did have enviably exquisite penmanship.

_Angel,_

_You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?_

_Pick you up at 6pm on 21 st December. Wrap up warm. Got everything else covered._

_C x_

Aziraphale believed there were certain advantages to being predictable when it came to clothing, not least of which being the time saved when it came to getting ready. Being teased by a certain stylish demon might have been the trade-off but it was rare for Aziraphale to consider this attention anything other than an additional benefit these days. There were therefore no decisions to be made when it came to coat, gloves or shoes, all of which had seen many Christmases and would inevitably be his companions for a great many more.

The selection of a scarf, however, gave Aziraphale pause. He was rather a fan of scarves, having amassed a modest collection to suit the season (if not the season’s style). Upon opening the cupboard, ready to make a selection based more on associated memories than anything more practical, Aziraphale's eyes alighted immediately on a cream knit affair that he had no prior recollection of whatsoever. It was looped innocently over the same peg as the others, looking for all the world as if it had every right to be there. Aziraphale reached for it, pleased but unsurprised to find the wool almost unbearably soft.

The giving of gifts had never been something they did with any regularity but beautiful things appearing in the bookshop without explanation was by no means unprecedented at this time of year. Aziraphale was certain that if he were to ask he would receive a spiky denial but he had a shrewd idea that Crowley might well be very pleased if he were to select this mysterious new accessory for tonight’s adventure.

Ready far too early but entirely unable to concentrate on anything else, Aziraphale settled himself into his favourite chair, scarf already wound around his neck, a smile playing on his lips. He had a book in hand but the pages remained unturned, his mind too happily occupied with his present reality for there to be any need to escape anywhere else.

Crowley was also ready far too early but had just enough self-discipline to restrict himself to pacing his flat’s stark living room while he impatiently waited out time.

He was not, he repeatedly assured himself, even the tiniest bit worried.

Yes, he’d slept through most of this holy shit show of a year and yes, that had undoubtedly put a significant strain on his relationship with Aziraphale but Crowley had been awake for the better part of two months now and had spent much of that time apologising and indulging and otherwise doing all he could think of to make up for his absence. And though the world beyond their little bubble remained bleak, still Crowley had resisted the temptation to return to his bed and hibernate until spring. 

Finding something they could do together for Christmas had taken some doing, considering how many events had been cancelled. Nevertheless Crowley had managed to plan something they had never done before and for that he felt justified in feeling just a little bit pleased with himself. Didn’t stop him from obsessing over every detail though. Just in case he'd forgotten something. Just in case it wasn't enough. 

The best part of his evening’s plan, and the part Crowley was adamantly the most not-worried about, was something that had required no power or planning at all.

After all, any supernatural entity could click and make everything perfect but there was something about being in the right place, at the right time, with the right person that no amount of magic, infernal or holy or otherwise, could ever hope to replicate.

Crowley just had to hope that Aziraphale would be in agreement.

The drive calmed him. The Bentley, sensing the mood of her owner, allowed three Velvet Underground songs to play unaltered. Crowley, however, was too busy going over the evening’s plan in his head to notice the effort his beloved car was making for his benefit and was entirely unaffected when Freddie Mercury began to sing After Hours.

Crowley was not the slightest bit late and yet, as he swung the Bentley round the last corner with unnecessary force, he saw an unmistakeable silhouette already waiting for him outside the bookshop, gloved hands held tightly in front of him, head rising hopefully in the car’s direction.

Six thousand years and all it took was the mere lifting of a chin to send a jolt through Crowley’s chest. 

Not bothering to find a parking space, he stopped the Bentley dead in the middle of the road, ignoring but still very much appreciating the outraged looks from various pedestrians and the furious honking of the white van now stuck behind him.

Crowley would gladly have exited the car and done the chivalrous thing of opening the door for his passenger but Aziraphale was already hurrying over, looking a little flustered. 

‘Really,’ he said as he claimed his seat, ‘There’s a space you could have pulled into right over there.’

It was true, there was an ever so convenient Bentley sized bit of kerb situated right opposite the bookshop. Crowley eyed it with eyebrows slightly raised.

‘Didn’t notice,’ he said, ‘Ready to go?’

Aziraphale drew the seatbelt around himself and gave what was clearly meant to be a very put upon sigh that was undermined significantly by the happy wiggle that followed.

‘Drive on, my dear.’

As a concession to the significance of the occasion, Crowley restricted himself to merely flirting with the speed limit, the glow of Aziraphale’s happiness a more than ample reward. It was hard not to keep shooting glances at him, his vision of an angel, wearing even more layers than usual and somehow all the more delectable for it.

‘Nice scarf.’

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, not that Crowley really tried.

‘Thank you,’ Aziraphale returned, one hand rising to stroke the wool with such gentle fondness that Crowley found himself ardently wishing he was receiving the same attention, ‘A rather fortuitous discovery this afternoon which I do believe will keep me quite warm. I take it we’ll be spending the greater part of this evening out of doors?’

‘Yep.’

The lights had changed ahead but before Crowley could do anything about it, Aziraphale shot out a hand and touched him lightly on the arm.

‘I do hope we’re not going to have a repeat of two years ago. Not that I didn’t appreciate the intent but I really am quite positive one of us will end up being discorporated if we ever try ice skating again.’

Crowley let out a short huff of laughter that was less a sign of his amusement and more cover for an uncomfortable wince. Ice skating had not been one of his better ideas.

‘No ice, no skates,’ he promised, ‘Nothing planned that will risk life and limb, I swear.’

‘Oh good.’ Aziraphale settled back in his seat and gestured to the road ahead of them, ‘It’s green, dear boy.’

Crowley blinked. So it was.

Aziraphale would have said, if anyone had ever asked, that he tolerated being driven by Crowley rather than enjoyed it. There were notable exceptions, however, and this was shaping up to be one of them. He knew better than to draw any attention to the effort Crowley was going to restrain his usual tendency to attempt to break the laws of both road and physics but Aziraphale knew full well that it was for his benefit.

Through the window, Christmas trees and decorations of all kinds in people’s gardens and windows lit up the night. 

‘I do think people have put in more effort this year,’ Aziraphale observed as they passed a twelve foot conifer positively aglow with a multitude of lights, ‘You have to admire their determination to find joy amidst the darkness.’

This was the point where Crowley would usually make some flippant remark about wasting electricity and the glorification of excess but no such comment was forthcoming. 

‘Nearly there,’ was what he said instead and Aziraphale found he was sorry that their journey would not take longer. If their evening had consisted of driving sedately through the lit up streets of London, he would have been very content indeed.

He had not paid much attention to where they were going but now Aziraphale realised they had driven away from the centre of the city. Not so long ago, by Aziraphale’s reckoning at least, this area had been villages and countryside but now it was residential streets on one side and a familiar wall on the other which Aziraphale knew far better in daylight having explored the gardens within many times with Crowley as his knowledgeable and highly critical guide.

‘Are we going to Kew?’ Aziraphale asked, though he was certain that they closed early in the dark months of winter.

‘We are,’ Crowley replied as he parked the Bentley down a side street. 

Knowing how Crowley liked to surprise him, Aziraphale refrained from asking any more questions, preferring to quietly delight in the way the drop in temperature made it all the more pleasant to link arms on the entirely unnecessary pretext that they needed to share warmth. Breath misting, they walked the short distance to the main gate and Aziraphale saw a short queue of people. He looked quizzically at Crowley whose expression gave nothing away.

Aziraphale unlinked their arms as they joined the back of the queue but only so he could take Crowley’s hand, giving those beloved fingers in their tight, black gloves an affectionate squeeze in the process.

‘Won’t be long,’ said Crowley, squeezing back automatically.

Aziraphale smiled, very aware that Crowley was not about to allow delays or excessive waiting in the cold to spoil their evenings.

As a minute turned into two, Aziraphale’s awareness expanded naturally outwards. There were small family groups around them, young children asking their parents when will it and what will happen and can I have? Some people were alone. The confidently calm Aziraphale left alone but the anxious found themselves unexpectedly reassured in voices familiar to them. There were quite a few couple’s too, the one directly in front of them laughing, one arm wrapping around the other’s waist to pull them close.

Oh, but it was nice to see such a thing and not feel the tight pull of jealousy or the pang of an ancient longing. It was impossible to tell for sure but Aziraphale strongly suspected that Crowley was watching the women too and, if the way he stepped ever so slightly closer was any indication, harbouring very similar thoughts.

Crowley could have made the gates open. He could have strode to the front of the queue and had no one bat an eye. Or he could simply have transported both he and Aziraphale inside the grounds before anyone else so they had the whole place to themselves. But what were such conveniences when compared to the gently possessive grip Aziraphale had on his hand? Crowley would join the back of every queue and stand in line for the rest of his days if it meant he got to keep Aziraphale’s hand in his.

It was not long, however, before the line ahead of them started to move, the laughing couple before them reluctantly disentangling themselves and moving on ahead.

‘Welcome to Christmas at Kew,’ said a festive hat wearing staff member from behind the plexiglass window of their booth, ‘May I see your tickets?’

Most of the tickets being scanned around them had been purchased months before, the popularity of Kew’s annual event dictating this necessity, but Crowley had no awareness of this, having acquired his the moment he conceived of the idea for the evening.

‘We’re asking everyone to keep moving at a steady pace along the trail so as not to impede the view for others and please do stick to the path. We hope you enjoy your evening.’

‘We will, thank you!’ said Aziraphale, beatifically, unconsciously sending an excess of blessings towards the unsuspecting human before Crowley steered him away.

Inside the famous gardens a large illuminated archway marked the start of trail, a path of light beyond marking the way through the darkness. 

‘Oh Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, sounding a little breathless, ‘This is wonderful!’

‘This is just the start, angel,’ said Crowley, brushing off the praise as quickly as he could. There was still plenty of time for Aziraphale to be heartily disappointed after all.

‘I had no idea they put on such a show,’ Aziraphale said, gazing around him as if they had reached the pinnacle of the whole thing already, ‘Do they do this every year?’

‘No idea,’ Crowley muttered unconvincingly, taking Aziraphale by the hand again so he could tug him in the direction they were meant to go, ‘Come on.’

Aziraphale followed obediently but soon slowed to a truly glacial pace as he gazed at the hundred bright and sparkling baubles glittering over their heads, each one constructed from a delicate webbing of tiny lights.

‘So clever,’ Aziraphale remarked, reaching out as if he could not hold back the urge to touch, ‘They really are so clever, aren’t they?’

A bottleneck was forming behind them prompting Crowley to tug on Aziraphale’s hand again, pulling him towards the next installation but with every rainbow illuminated oak tree, every cascading waterfall of lights, every burst of coordinated music and colour changing bulbs, Aziraphale slowed once more to better appreciate the beauty on display, oblivious to how irritating this might be to anyone behind him.

It was at the so-called cathedral of lights, with Aziraphale standing right in the middle of the arched dome, illuminated in a golden glow magnificent enough to rival his halo that Crowley gave up trying to get Aziraphale to move and decided to deflect the attention of the other trail goers instead.

Things were not going according to plan. Crowley did not have to check his watch to know that they were running late. Watching the reflection of a thousand lights in his angel’s eyes, Crowley found he did not mind one bit.

A few minutes later, he was kissed under the fluorescent pink glow of the cherry blossom grove.

And again by the light of a thousand flaming lanterns.

And again after buying Aziraphale churros, the kiss tasting of cinnamon and sugar. 

By the time they reached the rose garden and its dancing myriad of colour changing petals, Crowley had almost forgotten the real reason he had brought Aziraphale out on a cold and clear night.

‘This way,’ he said, pulling Aziraphale off the path and into the darkness beyond.

‘But the trail,’ Aziraphale protested, casting a disappointed look over his shoulder.

‘We won’t miss anything, I promise.’

The darkness was rapidly swallowing them, the shadows of trees looming over them. Crowley removed and pocketed his glasses. He had always appreciated the freedom the night could bring.

‘I distinctly remember being told not to leave the path,’ Aziraphale protested.

‘And I remember something about not getting in everyone else’s way but that didn’t prevent you from stopping dead every thirty seconds to better appreciate the view.’

‘I didn’t…’ Aziraphale spluttered before giving up, ‘Well, in any case, that’s hardly the same. This trespass is very much against the rules. They’ll throw us out if get caught.’

Crowley laughed.

‘Not if they want their titan arum to flower again they won’t.’

Aziraphale let Crowley lead him deep into the dark and deserted gardens. He kept expecting (hoping) that Crowley would stop walking, pull him close and kiss him in the shadow of trees he had known from seed but regrettably Crowley did no such thing, striding with purpose towards a destination yet unknown.

Finally they reached a clearing in the trees and here, at last, Crowley stopped. Ahead of them was the imposing silhouette of the great pagoda, with its many ornate dragons impossible to make out at this distance, in this gloom. Aziraphale was looking up at it when his attention caught on a brightness in the sky just to the left of the pagoda’s pinnacle.

Aziraphale’s breath caught, his hand shooting out to grasp Crowley’s arm.

A star, brighter than any surrounding it. A star, brighter than any Aziraphale had seen for hundreds of years. A star, _the_ star.

‘Is it…?’

Aziraphale was not quite sure what he meant to ask, the jumble of memory and emotions choking him.

‘They're calling it a Christmas star,’ said Crowley, placing his hand over Aziraphale’s, pinning it gently in place against his arm, ‘Not a star though, not really. It’s Jupiter and Saturn converging.’ 

‘Oh.’

Whatever the vision was in reality, Aziraphale found himself transported through the years. The star before him was every bit as arresting as the one that had foretold of the great glory to come over two thousand years ago. 

They had been standing together on that far distant night too and though Aziraphale would never have thought of bridging the distance between them with touch back then, he had certainly been glad of Crowley’s company. As he always had been, right from the start.

‘Do you remember that first Christmas?’ Aziraphale asked, his whisper barely audible.

‘Remember how I felt,’ said Crowley, 'Hopeful.' 

Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the star to look at him. Crowley certainly had not spoken of hope at the time. They hadn’t spoken much at all if Aziraphale recalled correctly. So much of what they had shared back then had gone beyond words, or perhaps it was merely that silence had been a kind of safety. The illusion of one anyway. If Aziraphale had articulated his own feelings on that blessed night he supposed he would have said he was awed. And, he was prepared to admit now, more than a little afraid. 

'Felt other things too,' Crowley said, as if Aziraphale had spoken aloud, 'But yeah, I was hopeful.' 

‘And now?’ Aziraphale asked. 

‘Still am,’ said Crowley, turning those golden eyes on him at last.

Aziraphale let out a breath that could almost have been a sob. After a year of flickering faith and such despair, those two simple words filled his heart right to the brim. 

‘You truly are the most remarkable creature,’ Aziraphale said, cutting Crowley off from grumbling a refutation with a kiss to his sharply defined cheek, ‘Thank you for bringing us here.’

Crowley pulled a face which did not quite hide the smile breaking through.

‘Merry Christmas, angel.’

‘And to you, my dear.’

They would make their way back to the trail and leave the gardens eventually but neither one of them felt inclined to hurry the night along. Not while there were hands to hold and kisses to steal and stars enough above them to guide them back onto the path whenever they were ready. 

And all the while the light from a miracle neither one had made kept shining on for demon and angel (and human) alike.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas ❤
> 
> Find me on tumblr @marbledwings.


End file.
